


Not Easy

by battybatzgirl



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Fitz is precious, Jealous Ward, M/M, Protective Ward, Ward is everyone's nanny, and he is so done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Ward babysits a drunk Fitz, and accidentally-on-purpose ends up making out with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I literally got hit with lightening with this one, because out of no where it came to me. BAM! Yeah, idk.

There was a reason that Ward always used to hate babysitting his siblings.  They were typically annoying, troublesome, and reckless.  This much did not change when he became an agent.  However, one aspect did.

The current person he was babysitting was not one of his siblings, but instead took the form of a certain 5’8” Scottish scientist.  Annoying and troublesome he was already, but the recklessness came with the inebriation.

The team had just completed a long and tiring mission in Singapore, and all of them were exhausted.  Coulson requested—rather, told—the higher ups that they were taking a break from duty for a few days, and ordered May to park the Bus in a slightly rustic town in Russia.  Everyone was elated, and immediately dispersed once the wheels touched the ground.

May, armed in a parka, disappeared into the snow covered forest.  Ward figured she would want some quiet time away from everyone, because hey, even _he_ could get annoying sometimes.  Coulson retreated into his office; Simmons said he wanted to have some quality time with his Captain America trading cards, and Ward was in no position to question his superior.

Skye had found a local brewery, and had somehow conned her way into getting free samples of every liquor they produced.  Skye dragged Simmons with her, and Simmons didn’t go anywhere without Fitz, so all three of them ended up in booze warehouse. 

Skye could hold her liquor—that much Ward was sure of.  And since Jemma didn’t drink, Ward might as well have assumed it was Fitz causing the trouble. 

The brewery’s lobby doubled up as a bar, so it was filled with happy and inebriated patrons chatting away in Russian.  Ward’s eyes quickly scanned the room, and locked on his three teammates in the corner.  When he walked over, Jemma stood up and immediately started apologizing.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.  “I should have known—Russian liquor is about twenty eight percent stronger than the kind he must be used to, and—“

“It’s alright,” Ward waved her off.  “Just as long as he hasn’t been causing trouble.”

“You should have been here half an hour ago,” Jemma muttered.  “He was trying to build a rocket launcher out the beer tap.”

Ward peered over Simmon’s shoulder.  Fitz and Skye were sitting at a table, locked in a heated conversation.  Fitz suddenly stood up, stumbling and knocking over his chair in the process. 

“Jemma!” he whined, coming over to them.  “Skye says Matt Smith is a better Doctor than Tom Baker!”

Simmons frowned.  “I like Tennant.”

Fitz threw up his hands in frustration.  “The classics!  They’re….They’re classic!  You bloody—oh, hello Ward.  When did you get here?”

Ward took in Fitz’s ruffled hair, flushed cheeks, and dilated pupils.  The scientist was swaying on his feet, and Ward moved forward slightly so he would be able to catch him if he toppled over.  It nearly happened when Fitz whirled around to inform Skye that Ward was now present with them.

“Are you going to drink too?” Fitz asked Ward excitedly.  “Their vodka is really strong.”  The word “vodka” got garbled in Fitz’s mouth, so it came out more like “voudkhhahh.”  Ward glanced at Simmons, who was looking at him helplessly.

“I’ll take him,” Ward said, jutting his chin at Fitz.  “You bring Skye back in an hour.”

Simmons nodded in affirmation and went back to the table to sit down next to Skye.  Fitz tried to follow her, but Ward caught his arm.

“You’re coming with me,” Ward told him.

“Where ‘re we goin’?” questioned Fitz, stumbling as Ward weaved his way back out of the bar and onto the cold street. 

“Back to the Bus.”

The scientist wrenched his arm from Ward’s grip, planting his feet on the snow covered ground and crossed his arms over his chest.  “I don’ wanna.” 

Ward sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Fitz, you’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Yes you—I’m not arguing with you,” Ward said crossly, pointing his finger at Fitz’s chest.  “You’ve had too much to drink, you’re in a foreign village that you don’t speak the dialect of, and if I leave you alone, you’ll probably get kidnapped.  Or fall in a dumpster.”

“Would not,” Fitz protests again, now pouting at Ward, looking more and more like a petulant child which each passing second.    “I’d prolly jump in.”

Ward rolls his eyes and grabs his shoulder.  “Come on.”  He leads him only a few steps before it becomes apparent that Fitz is too inebriated to walk in the snow on his own.  Without saying a word, Ward wraps his arm around Fitz’s waist and puts his arm over his shoulder and begins half carrying, half dragging the scientist.

Fitz giggled.  “A’least buy me dinner first.”

Ward considers walloping Fitz on the back of the head, but figures he would probably throw up if that happened, and decides not to tempt fate.  The agent can feel Fitz shivering, and makes a mental note to bundle him up once they got back to the bus. 

Halfway there, Fitz started babbling about the Kinetic Molecular Theory.  Ward attempted to tune him out and focus on trudging through the snow.  Fitz’s accent had gotten about ten times thicker, and was harder to understand than normal.

After what seemed like forever, they made it back to the Bus.  Ward doesn’t even _try_ to lug Fitz up the stairs, and instead drops him down on the examination table in the lab. 

“Lookit everything in ‘ere,” Fitz says in awe.  “It’s so shiny.”

Ward rolls his eyes for what must be the hundredth time in the past hour, and starts digging through the drawers to look for Aspirin.  He hears a clinking noise behind him, and turns to see Fitz holding one of his droids.  His tongue is stuck out in-between his teeth and he is picking at the machine with one of Simmon’s scalpels. 

“Hey!” Ward barks, striding over and snatching the scalpel from his hands.  He reaches for the droid, but Fitz leans back on the table and holds the device high above his head. 

“’S _my_ robot!” cries Fitz.  “You donno anythin’ about the mechanics of innergrated circu…curci…cursuc…”   

Fitz trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t annunciate his thoughts, and Ward laughs.  Fitz pouts up at him again, and this time lets Ward take the droid from him.

“You’re mean,” mutters Fitz. 

“Oh, am I?” says Ward, still grinning, raising an eyebrow. 

Fitz nods.  “The meanest.  But Anton wasn’ mean.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Ward surrenders, placing the scalpel and robot on a table far away and turns back to Fitz.  “Who’s Anton?”

Fitz swings his legs back and forth in the air like a child.  His curly hair and wide eyes give him the picture of innocence.  Ward doesn’t know why, but he suddenly feels a flutter in his chest.

“The bloke a’ the pub,” Fitz answers.  “He came up t’ me and said—you wanna know wha’ he said?”

Ward sighs and puts his hands on his hips, now standing fully in front of the scientist.  “Sure.  What did he say?”

“’Y’ll need Jesus when I’m done wit’ you tonight!’”  Fitz breaks off into giggles.  “Then, he gav’ me a Bloody Mary, but wi’out the blood and more ‘o the Mary.”

Ward blinks.  He doesn’t know why, but the thought of some guy hitting on Fitz makes him tense up.  It makes him want to punch that _Anton_ and give him a shiner just for assuming his teammate was _easy_.  Because if Ward knew one thing, it was that Leo Fitz wasn’t easy.  He was a hell of a lot of things, maybe most of them Ward wasn’t even sure of, but he wouldn’t fall for some shitty pickup line.

Fitz seemed to notice his irritation, and cocked his head.  “’Re you ‘lright?”

Ward swallowed and clenched his jaw, fighting down the sudden anger in his chest. “I’m fine.”

Apparently, even plastered Fitz can think quickly, because a slow and smug smile spread out across the scientist’s face. 

“You!” he cried, pointing his finger at Ward’s heaving chest.  “You’re jealous!”

“I am not,” Ward snaps, but Fitz throws his head back and laughs. 

“ _Jealous_!” he sings, this time bopping Ward on the nose.  “Wa-ard is _jealous_ , Wa-ard likes me—“

Quick as a whip, Ward snatches Fitz’s wrist out of his face and pins it down to the table.  He is in Fitz’s personal space now, and realizes too late what a mistake that was.  Fitz blinks, his eyes big and shining, his lips pink and parted.  They are staring at each other, breathing each other’s air, neither one daring to move to break the spell. 

Slowly, Ward comes back to reality.  He releases Fitz’s wrist and backs away from the table.  He is supposed to be the sober one here, the one in control, and _he’s_ the one acting reckless.  Shaking himself out of it, he turns around and collects and Aspirin and a glass. 

“Here,” he tells Fitz without turning around.  “Take two of these and fill this up with water.  You’re head is still going to hurt in the morning, so—“

Ward turns to face Fitz, and nearly drops the Aspirin as he is jumped on.  Fitz locks his arms around Ward’s shoulders and presses their lips together, his toes barely touching the ground.  Ward stills for a moment in shock, but then straitens as a tongue sloppily licks at the seam of his lips. 

Fitz pulls back, tottering for a moment when he can’t immediately find his balance.  His cheeks and neck are flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Ward can’t stop himself from wondering if the color trails down the rest of his body, too. 

He could find out.  Because shit, it would be _easy_ to push the scientist back into the counter, to hike his legs up so they were wrapped around his waist.  To kiss Leo until he was breathless and wanton.  Easy to rut against him, to get him to moan and groan and arch up against him.  To make him beg and scream and come with the cry of Ward’s name on his lips. 

“Grant,” Fitz all but whimpers, and Ward’s whole entire body flushed.  He let the bottle of Aspirin clatter to the floor and put one hand on Fitz’s waist and—

The hanger door to the bus opened, and Ward jumped away from Fitz as if he had been burned.  The scientist fell back against the examination table, chest heaving.  He looked at Ward with a dazed expression, as if he couldn’t understand why Ward wasn’t pressing him up against any hard surface and ravishing him.  Then, he turned his head to look at who had entered the plane and visibly brightened.

“May!” said Fitz, and beamed.  “You ‘ave snow ‘n your hair!”

May, who had just closed the hanger doors, took one look at Fitz and did not seem impressed.

“I’m not helping you,” she informed Ward, striding past the lab’s open doors and heading up the stairs. 

“Bye, May!” Fitz called.  Ward rolled his eyes again and shoved the Aspirin in Fitz’s hands. 

“Figure it out yourself,” he muttered, retreating from the lab and clambering up the stairs after May.  Shaking his head, he ignored the part of his mind that wanted to go back and fulfill his Scottish-scientist centered fantasy.  “Friggen’ lightweight.”

Ward stomped back to his bunk and all but slammed the door shut.  Leaning back against the door, he sighed in frustration and raked his hand through his hair.  Whatever this was—whatever he was doing with Fitz—he was still uncertain about, but he did know one thing for sure.

 It definitely _wasn’t_ easy.


End file.
